Amber had just called him again. He’d thought his troubles were over when Ferringham went back to London with his tail between his legs, but apparently the Morgan girl was sniffing around again. He thought that it was only a matter of time before Ferringham got back in the mix again. They both had to be dealt with.
Tim took a deep swig of vodka and scratched his forehead with the butt of the gun.
The kitchen door opened, and a figure, illuminated by the moonlight, came in. Rachel. She turned on the light and jumped when she saw Tim. “Jesus.”
“Where have you been?” Tim said.
“I went for a walk,” Rachel said, still recovering.
“You go on a lot of walks these days,” Tim slurred.
Rachel’s eyes flitted to the gun in his hand. “How much have you drunk, Tim? You shouldn’t have a gun in your condition.”
Tim ignored her. “Can I ask you something?”
“Just put the gun down, Tim.”
Far from what she wanted, he pointed the gun at her. “I want to ask you a question.”
Rachel froze. “What?” she shrieked.
“It was you, right?” he said. “It was you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Answer me,” Tim shouted. The noise from the other room stopped. There was a shuffling and Tim knew that soon they would have an audience. He didn’t care.
“You’re drunk. And you’re emotional,” Rachel was saying. But she might as well have been talking a different language. Because all Tim heard were lies.
“Tim.” Edmund’s voice. Then Pru’s. And Robert’s. All asking after him.
Tim cocked the gun—click. “Tell me.”
“Yes,” Rachel shrieked. “Yes, it was me.”
“It was all of us,” Edmund said, stepping into Tim’s sight line. “This has gone too far, Tim.”
“Who sent the map?” Tim said.
“Me,” Pru said. “One of the people I was on the engineering and construction course with was interning in construction at the Rivers Trust. Found the opening. Put it on Facebook.”
“You sent it to James Sunderland,” Tim said. “Why?”
“Because this needs to be over, Tim,” Robert said.
Now they were all in front of him. All in the path of the gun.
“You ungrateful pieces of shit,” Tim said. “Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve become, has been for all of you.”
“No, Tim,” Rachel said, stepping forward from the others. “What you’ve become? That was all for you.”
Tim thrust the gun forward, put his finger on the trigger, pressed it halfway. Rachel tensed but said nothing. He was going to do it, blow the bitch away. But then a single tear rolled down Rachel’s cheek. And somewhere, in his vodka-addled mind, he forced himself to stop.
She was his sister. His twin sister. He couldn’t do it.
“Get in the basement,” Tim said.
The four in front of him faltered. “What?” Rachel said.
“Get in the damn basement,” Tim shouted. “All of you. Now.”
With little more arguing, they all filed down the basement stairs. And opened the door. In they went, Robert, then Pru, then Edmund. Rachel paused at the door. Tim came up behind her. Still pointing the barrel of the gun at her. Even though it was an empty threat now. She knew it too.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Tim,” Rachel said, before going in.
Tim slammed the door behind her. He slid the lock and padlocked it.
“I’ve always known what I’m doing,” Tim shouted through the door. “And now it’s time to end this.”
Chapter Seventy-Two
The present...
Freezing cold.
Numb.
Blackness.
He couldn’t see much—bubbles racing past. His eyes stung.
He flailed around, felt the body next to him—Tim, doing the same. He pushed up against Tim and broke the surface of the water. He saw the faint light of the railway tunnel and the lamp. Salvation.
There was a ledge, the steps—they were close. Robin tried to push himself toward them but found himself being held back. Tim crested the water, and had grabbed Robin’s arm.
“You bastard,” Tim said. He pulled Robin back underwater. Robin got a mouthful of icy water and he spluttered, kicking out with his legs. They connected with Tim’s stomach and he was propelled backward, letting go of Robin’s arm.
Robin broke the water again. Tim came up too and grabbed at him again. Robin tried to move his arms out of the way but they were too slow. Tim got him again. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Tim said.
Robin ignored him, pushed at Tim’s face with his free hand. Tim screamed and relinquished his grip. Robin pushed off him and got an arm on the steps. Tim pulled him back into the water. Robin kicked him away and got back onto the step, onto dry land. The air was somehow colder than the water, attacking him and sending him into uncontrollable shivers.
Tim was still splashing around in the water.
He was suddenly aware that Amber was over him. And she wrenched him out of the water, so he was lying over the steps. “You’ve shown great promise, Robin. Great promise.”
Robin gasped, feeling the air attack his cold, drenched clothes. It was worse than being in the water. He straightened up. Tim was splashing around in the water. He was trying to grab the step.
“Kill him, Robin. He killed your wife. Become something better.” Amber’s voice in his ear.
Robin grabbed Tim, a little bit of hope in the man’s eyes, before he pushed him and held him underwater. Tim squirmed under his grip.
“That’s right, Robin. Ascend.”
And then Robin realized what he was doing. Amber had got into his head, as easily as that. Was Tim under her spell too? “You’re insane.” He grabbed Tim and pulled him out of the water, next to him.
“What are you doing?” Amber said, exasperated. Like no one had ever defied her before. “He killed your wife.”
Robin nodded. “And I’m going to put him in prison. I’m not a killer. Nobody dies today.”
Amber smiled. “I appreciate the sentiment, Robin. We’ve all grown as people, learned from each other, completed our arcs, but here’s the rub.” She held up her left hand. She was clutching a knife. “Somebody always has to die.” Amber advanced toward him.
Suddenly, a gunshot rang out. Robin and Amber looked at each other, sharing the same confused look. And then Amber staggered. She looked down to see a blood plume spreading from the wound in her chest. She collapsed.
Behind her, Sally stood holding the gun. “I really bloody hate canals.”
Chapter Seventy-Three
The tunnel had him again, just like it did that day. But this time, he was walking toward the light, walking toward the exit. At least he thought he was, hoped he was. They had been walking for hours, days, months, years. It felt like that, anyway. And the tunnel kept going. On and on and on. Exhaustion lapped at him, just like the water had. He felt as though he were freezing to death, his limbs numb. He wouldn’t have known they were there, if his right arm wasn’t supporting Sally and his left wasn’t dragging an unconscious Tim Claypath. And his legs were moving, almost of their own accord, trying to get out, trying to save them.
They had left Amber where she lay. She was dead. Her story was over.
Sally had stopped talking and her eyes were closed, but she still had strength in her legs to carry her, so he supposed that she was still with him. Among the living.
It was hard to believe that it was over. But then, it wasn’t exactly. There were still things to sort out, sort through. And he silently cried to himself at the prospect.
Sam was buried under the basement of The Hamlet. He’d been right there. She’d been right under his feet. God. He needed to retrieve the body. He needed p
eople to get it and then he needed to bury her properly. He needed it to be done. He needed it to be over. What Amber said had been true—he had been scared, scared to even consider the prospect of it being finished. Her story. But now he was ready. He was finally ready to let her go.
He pulled Tim along the tunnel and propped up Sally and staggered on and on. Every step he thought he couldn’t take another one, but every step he did. And finally, he started to see light.
Light at the end of the tunnel.
He spluttered, laughed. As the pinprick of light expanded. And became the size of a postage stamp, a door and then finally the entrance.
He quickened his step, feeling energy seeping out of him. He made it to the gate, hurling Tim Claypath through with the last of his reserves. He got Sally out and she murmured something, as if in thanks.
They were okay. Everything was going to be okay.
“What the hell?” He looked up to see a man in a reflective vest. A van with the Canal & River Trust logo was parked to the side of the entrance.
That was all he saw before he collapsed.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Two months later...
Robin got there first and ordered two coffees. He watched the freeway, with the cars flying past—people in a hurry to get where they were going. He remembered what it was like to be someone like that, but since Sam’s funeral he had been content to sit back and let everyone else do the rushing around.
The coffees came, and he wondered if she was going to show up.
As he did, a voice said, “This seat taken?” He looked up to see Sally there, smiling. She slid into the booth, placing a packet on the table. “Hi, Robin.”
“Hey,” he said. She looked good, a lot better than the last time he’d seen her, when he’d visited her in the hospital. She had been impossibly pale then. Now she looked full of life. “How are you?”
“I’m better. Still not fantastic. But better.” She smiled. “You?”
“Same,” he said, pushing a coffee toward her.
Sally took it and took a sip. “Have you heard the news?”
“That all the Five got arrested? Or that Matthew’s free?”
“Neither. Roger Claypath resigned today. He stood up in front of the whole world and said he’d got it wrong. He offered a public apology to Matthew, and to the entire community. It must have burned him to the very core to have to do that. I heard he’s going to move away with his wife. Would be just like him to run away,” Sally said, matter-of-factly. “I have this for you.” She slid the gray packet into the center of the table.
“What is it?” Robin said.
“It’s from a friend.” Robin went to pick it up, but Sally’s hand shot out and stopped him. “Maybe open it when I’ve gone. I was told it’s only for you.”
Robin retracted his hand. “Okay.”
Sally smiled. “I can’t stop. I’ve got somewhere to be.”
Robin nodded. “Of course. Going back to The Red Door?”
“Always,” Sally said, laughing, “but I have a detour to make first. I’m actually working another case.”
“Even after you almost died the last time?” Robin said, only half-jokingly.
“Nothing like almost dying to make you feel alive,” Sally said. “Besides, there’ll always be something crazy happening somewhere. And when it does, The Red Door should be there to cover it.”
Robin nodded.
“You never told me,” she said. “What was Clatteridges? The thing Sam told Matthew about. The thing that convinced you to help him.”
Robin was quiet for a moment and then told her. “Clatteridges is a restaurant. At 7:30 p.m. on the 18th of August 1996—it was when we first met. I was on a date, set up by some friends. It went terribly, and the girl—I can’t even remember her name—left before coffee. I sat there on my own, and then this waitress comes up to me and gives me the bill. Her. Samantha. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. I knew, that moment, that I would marry her. I knew I would spend the rest of my life with her. So I did.”
“Why didn’t you put that in the book?”
“Because that memory is mine.”
Sally didn’t respond. She just nodded. “You going to be okay?” Sally said, taking a swig of coffee before standing up again.
Robin smiled. “Yes.” And he meant it. “Goodbye, Sally.”
Sally took two steps and then came back. “My name’s not Sally. It’s Rhona Michel.”
Robin nodded. “Then goodbye, Rhona.”
She smiled. “Open your post.” And she left.
Robin watched her go and then picked up the package. There was something rectangular inside. He opened it and tipped the insides out onto the table. An old mobile phone.
He looked inside the package to find a scrap of paper. He took it out and read it.
AS PROMISED, MATTHEW (PASSCODE 1234, CHECK SAVED VOICE MAIL)
Matthew? Matthew had sent him a phone? Why? He picked it up, turned it over in his hand until he found the power button. He turned it on, put in the passcode and then went to the voice mail. He put it to his ear tentatively.
“Robin, it’s me.” Sam’s voice. His eyes filled up with sorrow. Her voice. “I want to tell you that I love you so much. And I want you to know that you made me the happiest I ever was. But I think that might be over now. I think you have to go on alone. And you have to, Robin. You have to live. And you have to be amazing. Be amazing, please. For me. I love you so much. I will always love you.”
Robin waited until the line cut out. And he waited some more, listening to the dull tone of the dead line. He sat there and he cried. He cried until he couldn’t cry anymore. He cried for Sam, and for himself, and for everyone along the way.
When he was done, he wiped his eyes and finished his coffee. And resolved to not cry about it anymore. After all, Sam had told him what to do.
He put the phone in his pocket, got up and paid the bill.
And then he went to be amazing.
* * *
Acknowledgments
Whoever coined the term “difficult second novel” was entirely correct, and whoever coined the term “difficult third novel” was even more correct (but that’s a story for another time). I thought a lot of people had influenced Guess Who, but that was nothing compared to Now You See Me. For starters, I would like to thank everyone at the Standedge Visitor Centre and the pilots who took me through the incredibly impressive and equally eerie Standedge canal tunnel. Sorry I didn’t tell anyone what I was up to! I hope I have written a novel that compliments the legacy of the tunnel more than tarnishes it. As always, I’d like to thank my #SauvLife crew, Fran Dorricott, Jennifer Lewin and Lizzie Curle, for giving me support whenever I needed it, and a digital WhatsApp shoulder to cry on when things went wrong. Ever since the launch of Guess Who, I’ve found a wonderful home at Waterstones Durham Crime Club and met many authors and readers, who have inspired me and I now consider firm friends. These people include the wonderful Fiona Sharp, who I met completely by chance whilst going in to buy a book and I’m convinced has now become the reason for over 70 percent of my book sales, Daniel Stubbings, who beta-read this book and provided really encouraging and honest feedback when I was feeling down on it, Claire Johnson and Dave Dawe, for words of kindness and encouragement, Liam, Not Andy, Mick, Helen, fellow authors Robert Scragg and Judith O’Reilly and everyone else from the group, whose passion for crime fiction really inspires me to keep going and make every book the best it can be. To my MA Creative Writing colleagues who have helped me through the early stages of my writing. To Claire McGowan and A. K. Benedict, who I could never have got to this stage without. To my wonderful agent, Hannah Sheppard, who is always a joy, and is always on the other end of the phone when I need to chat. To my fabulous UK editor, Francesca Pathak, who believed in this book from the very beginning, and to the res
t of the team at Orion—you’re all fantastic. I would also like to thank the team at Hanover Square Press, including Peter Joseph, Natalie Hallak and everyone who helped bring this book to your hands. And finally, to you, the reader. I hope it’s been an enjoyable ride. See you next time!
ISBN-13: 9781488098703
Now You See Me
Copyright © 2019 by Chris McGeorge
First published in the UK by The Orion Publishing Group in 2019
This edition published by Hanover Square Press, 2019
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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